Final Option

arranging a bail hearing. I looked at my watch and hoped that Elkin would arrive soon. “You’re going to have to talk to Ken about getting things together for your mother. If the judge does agree to grant bail, you can be sure it’s not going to be an insignificant sum. Why don’t you sit down. I see a coffee machine around the corner. Let me get you a cup. It’s going to be a long night.”
    Waiting for the cup to fill, I turned to look at Barton Jr. sitting on the hard wooden bench. He seemed to have shrank since morning. His jacket hung on him like a man’s suit on a little boy. His pallor, the claw marks of fatigue under his eyes, the thought of Jane, pale and pregnant, all made my heart turn over. Innocent or guilty, Pamela Hexter’s arrest was a hideous assault on their lives. For the Hexter children the alternatives were equally painful. Either their mother had been falsely accused of a capital crime or she was, indeed, a murderer. Either way, the ugly ordeal of her arrest and trial would be a punishment for the innocent as well as the guilty.
     
    It was best not to judge Elkin Caufield too quickly. His manner was disarming—upbeat and reassuring, as if all unpleasantness must dissolve in the face of his particular blend of energy and good sense. But with Elkin only a fool would let His guard down. I had seen his good nature change in a heartbeat into thundering wrath or sarcasm as quick and sharp as a surgeon’s knife.
    Short, and with the whippet build of a marathoner, in the relative stillness of the police station he was not much of a physical presence. His black hair was cut short in military style, which did nothing to soften his face, pitted long ago by acne. His eyes were dark and piercing, fringed by improbably long lashes. But many a jury member had started out trying to figure out the inherent contradictions in that face, only to find themselves mesmerized by the force of the intellect behind it.
    He gave me a distracted wave as he made his way to the desk sergeant where he presented himself as Mrs. Hexter’s attorney and carried out a brief conversation. That part of his business concluded, he came to see us, all charm and reassurance, shaking my hand warmly and accepting my introduction of Barton Jr.
    “Any trouble making it through the reporters?” I asked as he shrugged off his Burberry, revealing an expensive custom-made suit.
    “Nah,” he said. “Those guys are all my buddies. I did kick Dick Preston in the shins. He should know by now that when I say ‘no comment,’ nothing he says about my wife will change my mind. What a schmuck. Barton, young man, the desk sergeant informs me that they are still processing your mother, so it will be a few moments before I am permitted to see her. I’m going to ask you to take a little walk with me so that I’m sure we understand each other.”
    The two men strolled down the corridor, the criminal attorney’s hand on the mathematician’s much higher shoulder, while they conferred in whispers about representation and fees and what was likely to happen over the next few hours and days. For Barton Jr. the day’s events were like a step into the abyss, but Elkin had been at the receiving end of many panicked phone calls from the homicide lockup. He had taken this walk down the corridor with the family of the accused many times. When the two of them returned to the bench, Barton Jr. looked noticeably reassured.
    “Okay, Kate, my dear,” said Elkin. “Now it’s your turn to step into my office.”
    I got to my feet with a smile and accompanied Elkin down the hall. He slipped his arm absently around my shoulder as I walked. I knew that in some circles Elkin had a reputation as a grabber, but in my experience he was just one of those people who touches everybody, man or woman.
    “Thank you for calling me,” said Elkin. “This has every appearance of being an interesting case. Tell me how you came to be a part of this. Are you, perhaps, involved with young Barton? He seems a charming young man.”
    “No,” I replied. “He’s married to Jane Barber, the pianist. They have two little boys and a baby on the way. I became a part of this, as you so aptly put it, because Bart Hexter was shot an hour before a meeting with me.”
    “So you represented the father.”
    “No, his company, Hexter Commodities. This evening I gave Barton a ride home from his mother’s house. His wife was waiting for us with the news of Pamela’s